


The Getaway

by Clowne



Category: Need for Speed (Video Games), Need for Speed: Most Wanted (2005)
Genre: Gen, Out-of-Fandom Readable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22518721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowne/pseuds/Clowne
Summary: A daredevil street racer is on the run.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	The Getaway

While Rockport soon disappeared in the rearview mirror, the angry flashes of red and blue and the cacophony of numerous sirens remained a constant. Listening in on the police radio I hoped there’d be something useful in the torrent of agitated chatter as I dodged past traffic left and right. “Any update on those air unites? This guy isn’t showing any signs of stopping.”

Once those air units joined in on the chase I’d need a damn miracle to get away. That sinking feeling in my stomach grew more and more intense as the seconds passed, knowing each second I wasted would come to bite me in the ass. A construction site up ahead caught my attention – lots of heavy machinery and equipment, so that traffic was directed off the main road where construction workers were busy finishing the new highway, and an overpass. Tearing through the traffic cones and their attached barricade tape, I led my pursuers onto the active construction site. Dodging heavy construction vehicles and building materials I hoped I’d be able to get some distance to the cops seemingly intent to ram me.

My grip tightened on the steering wheel as I pushed the gas and sped underneath the dipper arm of a massive excavator, letting out a breath of relief once I realized that my desperate gamble had paid off; mere seconds after I had passed underneath it, the arm had moved, forcing the nearest cop cars to hit the breaks, hard, resulting in a mass collision. Doing a hard turn I entered the ramp leading up to the unfinished overpass. Right above the active construction site the overpass had yet to be fully connected, and it would be a dangerous gamble to make it across the gap… I pushed the gas to the bottom, then hit the nitro as I approached the remaining gap in the overpass, getting that extra boost to hopefully pull it off. No time for doubt now. “Do or do not, there is no try”.

The exhilarating and excruciating feeling of speed and weightlessness – a plague of butterflies in my stomach as the car went airborne. I may never get used to that, no matter how many times I’ve done it. The landing was hard, but I’d made it, and the car had too it seemed. Throwing a quick glance in the rearview mirror I saw that the four cop cars that had followed me so far quickly were brought to a desperate halt. None of the cops willing to risk making the same jump.

I had to make the best of this temporary victory and find some cover before the promised air unites showed up and made my life hell. The sun was past midday, and once it set I would be able to make us of the cover of darkness to slip away undetected on the less trafficked roads. I had removed the battery from the burner cellphone I had used in order to prevent anyone from tracing it; better safe than sorry. If Cross wanted to take me down, I’d make him work for it.

I watched the unfinished overpass and the construction site and the flashing lights of the cop cars stuck on the unfinished overpass quickly disappear from view, soon speeding down the sparsely trafficked sun-dappled side-roads, sending the dry autumn leaves flying as it was whirled up. I’d have to find somewhere to get a new coat of paint, and fast. This car would be the most-sought after vehicle by the police and its unique paint job and tell-tale signs of trading paint with Razor and the five-oh meant that it would stand out even to casual passersby. I remembered Rog mentioning a guy who ran a workshop and garage in Foxfield, one of the nearby towns, a former racer who was dependable and could be trusted to take on a job that could bring down a lot of heat from the police. It was a relatively small, out-of-the-way logging town, off the highway, so chances were the cops wouldn’t think too look for me there, and suspect I’d go for a hasty getaway.

The welcoming sign announced that the town of Foxfield boasted a population of 1292. It was a small, quiet, quaint town with most shops and public services located on Main Street, and in the outskirts a roadside diner, motel, a small – and seemingly decommissioned – train station. There was also a white village church, a large sawmill, and a now-abandoned copper mine just visible in the outskirts of the town limits being its main features of note.

Luckily the garage Rog had told me about was in the outskirts and out of view from Main Street. I got off the main road and pulled up in front of the main building. A gruff-looking man with a five-’clock-shadow, dressed in an oil-stained dark blue overall looked up and came over, as he was drying off his hands on a rag. I pulled down the side window and greeted him. “Rog told me you’d be go-to guy if I ever was in the area,” I said, removing my sunglasses. “All right, just bring her ’round the back and I’ll see what I can do for you,” he responded, nodding towards the left side of the garage, where the opened gate revealed a workshop.

I nodded, brought the side-window back up and drove the car around the side and inside the opened workshop room he had indicated. “I was thinking about getting a new paint job,” I commented as the owner entered, followed by a younger guy in similar overalls, an apprentice I guessed. “Any particular color you had in mind?” the older of the two queried, taking a sip from his coffee cup as he inspected the car up close, tracing his finger across some of the worst damage, the pinstripe Cross so generously had left behind with his key standing out. “Metallic red,” I decided on the spot – that would stand out of the crowd and it’d be different from the current paint job, so anyone looking for the car might be thrown off by it. I tore down the Wunderbaum Razor had put up there and threw it into one of the nearby garbage cans. I’d buy a new one – maybe pine scented? – to remove all traces of Razor’s ownership of the car.

I retrieved my belongings, not that there were many, and shut the car door, and put on my jacket and cap. “We’ll have it done by this time tomorrow,” the older man began, putting down his coffee mug. “Now, about the cost…” he continued, turning back to me. “That doesn’t matter. As long as it is done in time,” I finished for him, pulling out a stack of greenbacks to pay in advance. “You’ll get the rest tomorrow, when it’s done,” I clarified, placing my hands in my jacket pockets and heading for the still-open doors. A thought hit me and I turned around in the doorway. “Any hotels or motels you’d recommend?”

As the garage owner had confirmed I didn’t have much choice but checking in at the roadside motel for the duration of my stay in town. As I approached the motel I caught sight of the stereotypical ice-cube machine/dispenser outside, and the gaudy neon sign. It didn’t seem as bad as the motels I’d seen on TV, where paramedics are bringing out bodies from one of the rooms while the cops are hard at work setting up a crime scene, and stepping around the chalk-outlines of the room’s latest occupants.

Inside the room wasn’t too shabby either, another pleasant surprise. A glass door led out to a small enclosed veranda which offered a pretty impressive view of the picturesque surroundings. In another time, with less pressing matters weighing heavy on my mind, I might’ve been able to relax and enjoy the quaint small-town charm and soak in the nature of the place and the history. Now though, my mind was focused on getting the car ready and get back on the road. Every moment I spent cooped up in this motel room was time wasted, time my pursuers could use to track me down. I shut the curtains and grabbed the remote, flicking thru the channels to see what was on the local news. It seemed that the mayor of Rockport was not happy with the way Cross had handled the street racing situation, though he tried to downplay the incident as much as possible, and the segment was buried in other local news towards the end of the news. Guess I ought to be thankful for election season, as that seemed a convenient distraction everyone seemed more than willing to jump at. Knowing Cross though, he would no doubt spend all his waking hours and available resources trying to catch me.

I turned off the TV and fell back on the bed, feeling exhausted after everything that had transpired; spending hours on end racing and trying to avoid oncoming traffic and cops was tiresome. Might as well try to catch some shuteye for a few hours; worrying about Cross and the cops chasing me while my car was in the workshop would do me no good. The last coherent thought that crossed my mind before eventually drifting off to sleep was wondering how often they changed the sheets in this place.

Speeding down the sun-dappled coastal highway, with music playing loudly on the car stereo, the rush of excitement and feeling of pure freedom like nothing else could achieve soared through me. The sunlight reflected off of my sunglasses, feeling warm and pleasant on my skin. I turned my head to look at Mia in the passenger seat; she smiled at me, looking as striking as always in the sunlight. “Eyes on the road!” she laughingly teased me as she caught me looking. “Just taking in the scenery,” I excused myself, pushing the gas and loving the feeling of the car accelerating and the joyous squeal and laughter of Mia’s instantaneous reaction. “You’re a maniac!” she laughed, gripping onto my shoulder. I chuckled in response, loving how I was able to get that reaction out of her; despite her words she seemed to love the thrill of it just as much as me. I sped by a slow-driving semi trailer, and felt my stomach sink as I caught sight of a police roadblock up ahead. Acting almost on reflex I slowed down, stalling, weighing my options on how to proceed. I threw a quick glance at the rearview mirror, and that sinking feeling in my stomach was increased tenfold by the distant flashes of multiple police cars behind us.

“Looks like your racin’ days are over,” my passenger mused coquettishly. I threw a quick glance back in her direction but whatever I had planned in response didn’t manifest, the words dying on my lips as I saw my passenger was Cross’s partner. I took in her dark, shoulder-length hair, and the sunglasses that obscured her eyes, guessing she had one eyebrow raised in a cocky, challenging dare to match her half-smirk. She looked as coy and cocky as I remembered her, from my encounters with her back in Rockport. “Not just yet,” I stated confidently. “Hang on!” I warned her as I put the car in reverse, she laughed in surprise, gripping onto the seat as the G-forces pushed us forward, then backwards, as I leaned around to gauge the road through the rear-window.

Seizing the first opportunity that presented itself I wasted no time turning the car to hit a side-road. My passenger let out a joyous squeal in response as I pushed the gas all the way and as the engine roared. We were pushed back against our seats, and felt weightless whenever we hit a bump before we were pressed back down into our seats as the car made contact with the road again. For a cop she seemed to love the thrill of the adrenaline rush of reckless racing as much as me. Soon we were speeding down the dirt road under a protective cover of overhead branches and lush, green foliage, with low-hanging branches swishing against the roof as we sped by underneath.

The sound of sirens had died away completely without me even noticing till the silence became obvious, and I took the opportunity to steal another glance at my passenger; her chest was heaving, like she was coming down from a high; her mouth was graced by an honest, pure smile I never would have expected to see directed at me from her.

The trees gave away and green meadows took over on both sides of the road, and up ahead an old, white lighthouse stood in sharp contrast to the cloud-free blue sky and the ocean beyond it. I brought the car to an abrupt halt, the tires kicking up gravel and dust on the makeshift parking lot next to the lighthouse building. I allowed myself to relax and let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding; I loosened my grip on the steering-wheel and let my heavy hands drop down to rest against the seat. My legs felt just as tired, and my pulse was still racing with adrenaline. With a weak, nearly trembling hand I pushed open the side-door; my flushed skin graced by the soothing cool breeze and sea-air.

With surprising ease and elegance my passenger moved from her own seat to sit in my lap, catching me off guard. My breath got caught at our sudden closeness and the intimate position; up-close I watched as her dark hair framed her face, and she removed her sunglasses with her left hand, while her right was resting comfortably on the shoulder of my own seat. I let my eyes travel down to her low-cut top which exposed her midriff, her sunglasses hanging from the top, strategically placed at the middle, directing my eyes to her towards her chest. She wore an outer jacket, just as short as her top, and my eyes caught sight of her police badge attached to her her belt, shining sharply in the sunlight.

With a grace reminiscent of an athletic gymnast she climbed out through the opened car-door and pulled me out after her. Before I could catch my balance on my still unsteady legs, I found was pushed to the ground, my hands pinned against my back by my cop passenger. She leaned on me somewhat as she cuffed me, and as the clicked the cuffs around my wrists she leaned in close and whispered in my ear “Got you.”

Waking with a start I tried to get free from a non-existent adversary holding me down. A wave of relief washed over me as I recognized the motel room, and I slumped back onto the bed with the realization it had all been a dream, or a nightmare – or something in-between. The room was dark, but I saw sunlight through the curtains, and a glance at the digital radio clock on the nightstand told me it was late afternoon. I must have underestimated how tired and worn out I had been to have slept for so long. I kept still for a few more moments, staring up at the plain white ceiling and basking in the afterglow of relief brought on by having woken up in this hotel room and not in a jail cell.

I stalled a bit more than necessary straightening the duvet on the bed, and putting on my shoes and jacket; I told myself it was because I hadn’t gotten all the rest I needed after being put through quite the ordeal in my dream, and the stress of real life, and not because I had no clue where I’d go from here. As I stepped outside in the morning air I was greeted by a soothing breeze and the afternoon sun on my skin.

The car looked great – good as new with its shiny metallic red new coat of paint, and new license plates to go with it. I put in a new pine-scented Wunderbaum as the cherry on top. “Thanks for taking care of it so quickly,” I thanked them for a job well done as I pulled out another roll of money from my jacket pocket, making sure to give them a tip. Not many people would have the balls to take on a job of this kind and the dangers it held.

A few minutes later I pulled up in front of the roadside diner. The flashy pink neon-sign read ‘Dolly’s Diner’. A few semis were parked on the parking lot, hopefully they’d provide me with enough cover to shield the car from anyone happening to drive by on the highway.

A perky Betty Page-lookalike waitress who looked fresh out of high school, if that, greeted me as I entered. I ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of their home-made cherry pie, before grabbing a tourist map of the region from a rack next to the counter and headed for a booth in the corner. From there I’d be able to keep an eye on the parking lot and the road in front of the diner while still being mostly out of view. I unfolded the map and began examining the roads and nearby towns in greater detail.

“Here you are, sir,” a cheery voice announced. Looking up from the map I saw that the waitress had brought my order. She handed me my coffee, and I took a sip as she placed the plate with the cherry pie on my table next to the folded-out map. “That’s a damn fine cup of coffee,” I sighed in appreciation, leaning back in the red leather seat of the booth. “Let me know if you want anything else!” she beamed, her dimpled smile grew even wider. I thought I detected an extra bounce in her step as she headed back to the counter with the empty tray.

I ended up ordering another slice of the cherry pie, taking time to savor the taste of it along with the coffee. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was so hungry and had gone days eating nothing but takeaway food in Rockport, but their cherry pie tasted like a slice of heaven. Knowing that my car was looking great again, and ready to take me anywhere I wanted, along with the warm, setting sun and the food and drink made me feel more content than I could remember feeling in a long, long time.

The moment of peaceful contemplation and enjoyment was shattered by an unwelcome sight… A police interceptor pulled up by the diner; a slender woman in a dark blazer and low-cut top exposing her midriff exited the police vehicle gracefully. The police badge attached to her belt reflected the light of the setting sun. The weird dream immediately came back me, and I knew it was time to get moving again. I put my baseball cap back on and made sure to push the peak down to cover my face without making it too obvious I was trying to avoid being seen. I brought the map up, pretending to study it, as I watched her enter from under the peak of the cap. She wasted no time and strode up to the counter. She looked agitated, antsy, on edge. I guess she was under a lot of stress and pressure after what went down, especially with Cross breathing down everyone’s neck at the police department. She ordered a coffee as she talked to someone on her phone – Cross?

As soon as the Betty Page-looking waitress was free I waved her over to settle my bill, making sure to leave some tip for her. “Thank you sir, I hope you enjoyed your meal,” she thanked me as I grabbed a note from the table and hurriedly scribbled down a message: ‘Catch me if you can’  
“Could you hand this to the lady by the counter?” I queried, offering her the folded note along with the money. “Yes, sir,” the waitress replied, smiling as brightly as ever, accepting the offered slip of paper and money as I got up, grabbed my tourist map and quickly folded it as I made my way towards the exit.

My pulse was pounding as I passed her, her back turned to me as she was too invested in her phone conversation and towing with the paper cup of coffee to pay any attention to anything else. I let out a breath of relief once faced with the afternoon air outside again, making a dash for my car, hidden mostly from view by the parked semi trailers and logging trucks. I turned the key and brought the engine to life, slowly pulling up outside the diner so that I could see right in through the windowed front of the building. The waitress had seemingly just handed her the note, and she unfolded it after a moment of hanging up her call. It didn’t take long for her to react to the simple, cocky message. She spun around to look for the sender, and when she turned to question the waitress behind the counter, she was made aware of me. She crumpled the post-it note in her hand and set down the coffee cup on the counter rather carelessly in her hurry, spilling some of its steaming hot contents, as she made a dash for the entrance doors.

I brought the tinted side-window back up and pulled out of the parking lot just as she got into the police interceptor, ready to take up the chase. Having now studied the tourist map I had some idea of what to expect, but these rural roads were not ideal for racing or a high speed car chase, and I hoped the cost of my little stunt wouldn’t be too high.

The sun was rapidly setting behind the forested hills in the west now, and the horizon was aflame in shades of red and orange, and reflecting in the slow-moving river that cut through the green landscape like an enormous silver serpent. I sped across the empty main bridge, and on the other side the large sawmill lay to my left. Again, the setting sunlight reflected off of the roof of the long main building and forced me to shield my eyes to see the road properly. After speed past a lone semi trailer I took a hard right at the intersection, leading out of town. Thankfully traffic was very light, and I had little fear of encountering incoming cars. In the rearview mirror I saw the police interceptor coming up behind, quickly catching up to me in an attempt to cut this chase short. Instead of taking the main road running parallel to the old train tracks I decided to go for an older road that continued on through the wilderness, past the long-since-closed copper mine. I could make out some of the old, crumbling concrete buildings now being reclaimed by nature up ahead, behind the train tracks, and their raised foundations.

Rapidly approaching the long, narrow tunnel that cut trough the foundations of the old train tracks I saw that there were no lights inside the tunnel, which didn’t appear to see much use any longer. It was too low for semi trailers to drive through, and the newer main road was a shorter, more direct route, effectively making this road obsolete. The sound of the car engine became highly distorted inside the narrow tunnel, and the way the lights of my headlights became focused down the length of this dark tunnel made for a strange optical experience.  
My grip tightened on the wheel and a wave of relief washed over me as I emerged at the other end and the echo from the tunnel continued to ring in my ears. It had been a tense moment – if I had met any incoming traffic, it might have been over and done with. Behind me I heard my pursuer push the gas to the max; the interceptor was quickly catching up to me after seeing that I’d made it out of the tunnel without disaster. But I had other things on my mind; a sudden hairpin turn in the road was coming up, and it was gonna be a hard one to pull off at this speed, not to mention the danger of any incoming traffic, which would come as a total surprise.

The tires slid on the asphalt and I gripped the steering-wheel tightly, desperately hoping I’d be able to make it out of the dangerous hairpin turn that could easily be a death-trap at this speed. I was dangerously close to the edge of the road, and in the wrong lane. This was just as nerve-wracking as the jump I had pulled off from the half-finished overpass, and my entire body felt numb and detached from the situation. As the tires finally found hold and I got the car back under control, a wave of relief washed over me. The mood immediately changed as I threw a quick glance at the rearview mirror, seeing the police interceptor sliding dangerously close to the edge of the road, then losing its grip on the road surface in the sharp bend and going off-road; I watched it get thrown around as it disappeared down the slope on the side of the road. Without second-thinking it I hit the breaks, the screeching tires quickly got a hold on the road and the car came to an abrupt halt, the seatbelt holding me back as the G-forces wanted to push me forward.

I was half-aware of muttering a string of curses as all sense of relief was drowned out by a the overpowering feeling dread and absolute shock. In a daze I freed myself from the restriction of the seatbelt, opened the car-door and half-stumbled out onto the road. I had to steady myself against the car; it felt like the bones in my legs and arms had been turned into jello as I made my way to the point in the road where her cop car had disappeared from view. It lay upside down at the bottom of the slope, in a ditch of sorts. The wheels were bent out of shape, and the windshield cracked, but it hadn’t been totaled. As I made my way down the grassy slope, trying not to lose my footing and grabbing onto bracken and tufts of grass, I kept replaying the scene of the interceptor disappearing from view. It had made a wide trail on its rapid descent down the overgrown slope, flattening the vegetation and kicking up loose soil and stones from the ground.

I knelt down next to the interceptor, pulling the door open. She was held in place by her seatbelt, and the airbag had deployed, forming a big white cushion against her head. She was very dazed & confused, trying to move. “Easy! Try not to move your neck,” I warned her as I looked out for any obvious signs of damage. She seemed bruised and battered, as well as very disoriented, but I didn’t see any blood or limbs at odd, unnatural angles.  
“Anything broken?”  
“I don’t think so,” she answered, still somewhat groggily.

I reached in through the opened door and released the seatbelt, making sure to keep her from dropping down. “Hang on, I got you,” I told her, holding her securely and firmly as I maneuvered her out of the car, trying my best to make it as gentle and painless an ordeal as possible. Up close I recognized her subtle perfume from when she arrested me back in Rockport, and my mind involuntarily went to that strange dream from earlier. As gently as possible I put her down on the grassy ground, before quickly taking off my jacket to let her rest on, rather than the ground, wet with night’s dew. “Lie still!” I cautioned her as I checked her pupils and seeing if she was able to follow the movement of my fingers. “I’m not a doctor, but I played one as a kid,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood as I began checking for broken or dislocated bones. That earned a chuckle from her. “In all seriousness, I have taken a first aid course, so you are in decent hands,”  
“That’s good to hear,” she chuckled, sounding tired and dazed.

Her skin was soft and warm to the touch, and I felt a shiver from her. There was a developing bruise on her forehead, likely from the airbag. Guessing her wrist was sprained I gently lowered it to rest alongside her on the jacket. There was a bruise forming on her forehead, above her right brow – possibly a concussion? “Don’t go anywhere, OK?” I told her as I pulled out my burner phone and put the battery back in. Without waiting for a reply I started moving up the slope till I got a proper signal and hit 911. The whole situation still felt completely surreal and it seemed like time had slowed down to a near standstill ever since that fateful movement where the interceptor lost control and went off-road down the slope.

I finished talking to the emergency operator and hung up, again removing the battery as I made my way back down to her. “They’ll be here soon,” I informed her as I sat down on the ground next to her. “Great, I hate waiting,” she muttered. “That makes two of us,” I admitted. “Aren’t you just full of surprises?” she wondered aloud, sound drowsier than she had when I left her to make the call. “Try to stay awake, OK? Pretty sure you should wait till you’ve gotten a check-up after an incident like this,” I cautioned. “Just resting my eyes,” came her response, but she opened her eyes again, and our eyes met in the growing darkness. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later,” I told her, trying to keep the conversation light and flowing. “Hey, did you hear about Cross?” she spoke up, as if just remembering something. “Nah, what’d he do now?” I wondered, impatiently throwing a glance at my watch to gauge how long it might be till the ambulance arrived. “He quit. The chief wasn’t too happy about what happened and they got into a real shouting match down at the station. In the end Cross just slammed his badge on the desk and told him he was done.”

I listened to the news, picturing the scene in my head, surprised that Cross would no longer be the one trying to get me. He had seemed hellbent on it, obsessed. “I wonder who’ll they replace him with,” I replied, still taking in the news and how it’d affect me going forward. “I’ll give you a head-start,” she said with a knowing looking, and it dawned on me that she had been put in charge now. “Are you going soft on me now? Or did you hit your head harder than I thought?” I questioned, watching her with faux-worry.

“Quid pro quo,” she stated simply. “For a cop you’re alright,” I admitted with a half-smile. “Now who’s going soft?” She chuckled in response. The sound of sirens broke the silence, and I got up, telling her I’d be back, before rushing up the slope back to the road. “Over here!” I called out to the paramedics as they exited the parked ambulance next to my own car. I kept to the background as the two paramedics hurriedly made their way down to the patient, knowing I’d just be in the way. The sense of urgency and adrenaline was now quickly fading, taken over by a sense of calmness.

“Get well soon,” I called out as she was loaded into the waiting ambulance on a stretcher.  
“Stay out of trouble,” she called back in response, to which I did my best Han Solo ‘Who, me?’ impression. She rolled her eyes and smiled despite herself as the doors of the ambulance closed. Turning, I headed back to my car waiting for me with the door still open, folding my jacket over my arm; it was wet from the dew and a few leaves and strays off grass were sticking to it. I threw it onto the passenger seat and got in. Better leave before Rockport’s best and brightest showed up. They probably weren’t far behind when the ambulance had showed up. The car engine roared to life and soon I was swallowed up by the growing darkness of the night down the empty road.

The landscape flying by was a monotonous wall of dark trees, only occasionally broken up by sparse signs of human civilization – the occasional forest road or side-roads and driveways, with a glimpse of light from a house visible between the trees. For the most part I kept close to the speed limit. No point in drawing any more attention to myself after the little stunt I had pulled with the note at the diner. For now I was content with flying under the radar and slipping away undetected into the night and leaving behind a legend of the one who got away. Knowing I’d be best going for an all-nighter, I flicked through the radio channels for something worthwhile to listen to; I needed something fast and loud to drown out the deafening silence.

Before long I had reached a crossroads. And I slowed down and brought the car to a halt, the engine humming quietly while I examined the road-signs. Where to? Bayview? Palmont City? I pulled out a coin from my pocket and did a flip toss. Palmont City it was.


End file.
